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Broadcast - Confessions of a Rebel Spy
The vid opens with a tranquil setting quite uncharacteristic of the typical power-play addresses made of late by the Empire. There are flowers, for one thing, and most seem to be attached to real, living plants. The setting could be in any formal hall, banquet room, or general use area, were it not for the expansive view far in the distance, of minute, circulating TIE fighters and twinkling of stars. This is an observation deck. Whoever has been tasked with setting the stage for this vid feed has done a superb job at masking the otherwise utilitarian function of the space. A few small topiaries and a fruit-bearing tree frame the visible portion of the window and one side of a glossy, circular table of pristine white – central in the frame. Another table, partially visible to the right bears a fine floral arrangement. Somewhere, out of sight, the sounds of water burbling from a fountain generate soothing ambiance. The table in focus has a smaller centerpiece, a vase of orange flowers paired with a crystalline bowl of sliced, exotic fruits. A smattering of flower buds –some in bloom encircle the bowl with lustrous, yellow sheen. The plant’s common name, known by any rudimentary botanical hobbyist, is ‘ambrosia’, and packs infamously potent nectar, prized by herbalists and perfumers alike. The golden petals are smattered and whorled by shades of pink and red and compliment the blush-hued contents of a lone, wine glass occupant, half-full. All in all, it’s a pretty picture, but what’s the point? A shadow crosses into the frame, followed by its owner – Ambrosia Delgard. The pair moves fluidly over the floor, approaching the table from the left. The ambassador is quite a different vision from the night she was hauled out of the embassy like a sack of meat. No blood, no filth, not a hair out of place – not the way one expects to see a prisoner of war, political or otherwise, appear in the company of their captors. Eventually, the shadow becomes extinguished by the lights focusing on the table, leaving just the ambassador to stand behind it, draped in fine, Coruscanti threads. The dress is a simple one, hooking over her left shoulder with a golden clasp to fasten it in place and trail a translucent, emerald sleeve down the length of that arm. The garment hangs freely along her frame from there, offering the barest of hints at the figure beneath it. Her right collar bone is quite prominent, however, and all, slender musculature of the matching, naked arm defined without a spare ounce of fat to soften them. Her hair has been combed straight, sweeping just a touch over the left eye before looping back into a pearlescent pin to hold the upper layer in place. Facial makeup brings color to her otherwise dulled skin. The look is rather natural, pinking her cheeks – bone structure highlighted more by the gauntness – and glossing her lips in a nude-colored hue. Her eyes are lined with charcoal, enhancing the feline quality of her stare, and lashes painted similarly. There’s no jewelry to speak of, however - Just a faded, puckered outline of a collar from long ago. She appears to move without hitch in her step or stiffness belying hidden injury. There is a rigidity to the way she holds her neck, head tilted just a touch to the side and up, watching something /very/ carefully off-camera. Ambrosia lowers into her prepared seat with perfect posture and places both palms down atop the table. Her hands frame the wine glass, crushing a few flower buds in the process. She closes her eyes for the count of two then opens to gaze almost coquettishly aside from beneath thick fans of lashes. In reality, she’s just looking very intently at someone, something, a few degrees east of the viewer. Not quite at the camera. It’s in this still moment that one quirk in her appearance /is/ noticeable – the constant wavering of her left wrist/hand. Like a ticking clock, counting the seconds, minutes, days gone by since the nerves were first fried. The occasional twitch of that side of her face punctuates its rhythm now and again. “Good morning, afternoon, evening to the citizens of the Galactic Empire, and …everyone else. It is Selona, in the fourth month of the year 43. My name is Ambrosia Delgard, Ambassador to Caspar, as formerly employed by the rebellion.” Her voice is like silk, well-groomed and steady, even-tempered in the style of one well-rehearsed. “Ambrosia Delgard nem’ma, eshu ambassadorrra ti Caspia. Rrrebel lin du trean … viros. Rasala ulme…Nemesis.” A rough translation puts her introduction into Sarian as well. The syllables seem to roll off her tongue more fluidly than her own basic language. “I’m currently a guest on board V2SD Nemesis, and as you can see…am suffering no harm.” Not in this moment, anyway. Ambrosia presses her lips into a brief, guarded smile. “My gracious host, Lord Thel, has been most accommodating and forgiving of my…trespasses and indiscretions against the Empire, while in service of the rebellion. Of which, there are many.” Taking pause to tip her forehead, maybe a subtle nod, she lowers her gaze. Her stare into the wineglass is hollow and voice slips into an equally lifeless tone. “They’ve shown me the error of my ways, so that I may atone and be granted peace for myself and my family. In order to achieve reconciliation, I vow ne’er to fall in with old, rebel ties, and pledge allegiance to those who grant me this mercy. So swear I, as truly and somberly as the words and confession I’ve to share.” Lifting her chin, she returns her focus to those in the room she must be addressing. “I begin this clearing of conscience by setting the record straight on an item of contention between the Caspian Democratic Union and Empire.” Flicking a glance to something on the /other/ side of the camera, she rolls both wrists over to uplift her palms in offering. “I speak of the allegations surrounding breach and thereby forfeiture of the Non Aggression Treaty, Est. year 34.” No other explanation needed there, at least for any Imperial or Caspian gov’t member. “It is true that Caspian weapons manufacturers have continued to supply the Rebellion with armaments, both on small and grand scale, military-grade equipment.” The woman swallows, tongue flitting over her lips to wet them without touching the staged beverage. Her right hand moves to tuck an errant piece of hair behind her ear while the left resumes its former state with one slight difference – the index finger is also twitchy, not as rhythmically as the hand itself, poking and tapping at the tabletop with silent, intermittent movements while she delivers more speech. *Tap-tap-sidetwitch…tap-sidetwitch…* “The Union government knew of this ongoing trade, at the highest levels. They did nothing to stop it; they were wrong in their attempts to quell the Empire’s rightful objection to breach of contract.” Her words hang solemnly in the air, face smoothing once more into a stony, emotionless expression as she comes /very/ close to making direct eye contact with the viewers, but stops just a hair shy. She continues, as does her finger tapping. *…tap-sidetwitch-tap…* “Additionally, the CDU has wrongfully accused the Empire of tampering with shipments of humanitarian supplies. The Imperial crews tasked with delivering these precious aid materials did not taint them with surveillance equipment or alterations of any kind.” Another pause, this time to clear the knot beginning to form in her throat. *…sidetwitch-tap-sidetwitch-tap…tap.* “We, I, have reason to suspect the Rebellion of planting this false evidence against His Majesty’s Empire, with hope of shattering the Empire’s image enough to lure the CDU into partaking in the rebel cause. Fortunately, many of Caspar’s citizens were able to see through the ruse portrayed by myself and those responsible for tampering with the aid shipment,” she says with a touch of difficulty. The look in her eyes makes it clear that she isn’t exactly content with whatever’s occurring off camera, nor does her tone sound incredibly apologetic. A bit angry, mayhap. Glancing down to her hands, Ambrosia lays her right over her left, and stills all motion from the index finger. “I offer my sincerest apologies to the people of Caspia for this misinformation and confusion. Were I more vigilant at my job, much strife could have been avoided. Just as they have fooled you with deception and false promises, so too have they fooled me. My mind has been too clouded with rebel rhetoric to realize the truth, before now, and for that I beg your forgiveness. Please, do not find fault in what the Imperial Regime has done to alleviate any suffering caused by the ongoing security measures. I beseech you, turn to your leaders, who have bartered too long with your /real/ enemy, and do your duty as law-abiding citizens.” Clenching her jaw, Ambrosia sets her lips into a long, grim line and delivers two final words: “Enact justice.” Dropping her chin, she now lifts the wine glass to her lips and draws a long sip, gaze locked forward until a blink brings her eye contact square with the camera - just as the feed cuts out. (OOC NOTE: If you think your character would take notice of the strange finger tapping that she's rather sneakily doing, feel free to do a perception check and maybe knowledge (Thel? Rasi?) to identify the message she tried to relay. Morse code. Tap = dot, sidetwitch = line. @mail Ambrosia what you think it is, and she'll tell you if you're right!)